Just Right, Or: Grissomlocks and the 3 Saras
by chibiness87
Summary: He felt like Goldilocks... GSR. Fluff. Spoilers post 8.07


**Just Right, Or: Grissom-locks and the 3 Saras** by **Chibiness87  
Rating:** K**  
Genre:** Fluff!! Pure and unaltered.**  
Pairing:** GSR  
**Length:** 765 words

**Spoilers:** Let's say everything... and um... Goldilocks and the 3 bears...

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, right... so not mine!

**A/N:**...What I wrote when I should have been revising microbes... Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the beta and helping me name this. I was going to wait until Wednesday to post this as an anniversary present to myself... but then decided to post it tonight instead.

* * *

The first time they had had a meal, he had cooked. He spent hours agonizing over what he could make for his non-meat-eating girlfriend when all his favorite meals included some nice animal at its center. Eventually he had settled on pasta, feeling like a failure; everyone resorted to pasta in the end, and he had wanted to make the meal something special.

She didn't cook meat. The first time she had cooked a meal for him, he had been served something brightly colored with bits of processed bean curd mixed in. A few mouthfuls had been enough to convince him he was not a fan of tofu, no matter what she attempted to do with it.

In the end, she bought him a mini-fridge to store all the meat products he wanted, as long as she didn't have to touch or cook or eat it, and she refrained from serving him tofu. And everything was just right.

* * *

"Your couch," she told him one day as they were curled up on it watching a movie, "needs to be replaced."

His hand, which up to that point had been weaving its way through her hair in a repetitive soothing motion, stilled. Glancing down where she was rested against his chest, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

Not lifting her head from his chest, her hand resting against his thigh, she had replied, "Because it's old. And lumpy. And really not comfortable to sleep on." Grudgingly, he had to concede her last point, having spent more than one uncomfortable night on the piece of furniture when the pain in his head had meant he couldn't move.

But still... "Well, your couch isn't much better."

That time she _did_ lift her head to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"It's too soft," he explained. "Sometimes when I'm lying on it, it feels like I can't get back up. You sink into the cushions too far."

He hadn't exactly known what to expect from her when he said that, but spending the night on his own couch while she spent the night in his bed alone wasn't it. And it only told him she was right; he did need a new couch.

Three weeks later when they put a down payment on a place together, the first thing they went shopping for was a new couch. One that, apparently, "Fit the style of the room, while not being the hardest piece of uncomfortable furniture in the store." And when, later that week, they were curled up together in their house, on their couch, everything felt just right.

* * *

Her bed, he told her, was far too small. They had spent their first night as a couple in her bed, and while nothing sexual happened that day, they both knew things had changed between them. The monumental changes were demonstrated by the desperate kiss he had pressed to her lips the moment he walked through the door after the case at Desert State Hospital. While her bed was perfectly adequate for a single woman not used to sharing it with anyone, he was used to the full King he had at his own place.

The next time they spent the night together, they had been at his place. When they had woken that evening, she had complained about the sheer size of the thing. It was, she said, way too big for just one person. He had agreed, much to her shock, and had suggested she make it more amenable to them both by spending more of her days with him, thus justifying the size.

He had left her imitating a fish for the next few minutes alone in the bed, while he made them both coffee. When he had returned to the room, two mugs of the brew in his hands, she had recovered enough to tentatively agree to his proposal. That had resulted in sessions of benign sleepovers, eventually leading to the sexual part of their relationship; a part that only ended when she stole away into the night.

When he returned home after yet another triple shift, number unknown since she had left him behind in Vegas, he had only one thing in mind; sleep. The house was quiet and his tired body moved on autopilot through the house to the bedroom, intent on simply collapsing into sleep.

The problem was there was already someone in it.

The sight of Sara, sprawled out on the bed, her arm hugging his pillow to her body tightly, made his chest ache. And suddenly, everything felt just right.

* * *

End

End


End file.
